Paper Hearts
by ForeverMartyr
Summary: *As of 5/21/13, this story is on PERMANENT HIATUS. This is ONLY here as a sample of my writing. Summary: Something's wrong with Jim, and he's not saying a word. But when the crew of the Enterprise is in danger as a result of it, it's up to Spock to help Jim before it's too late. Eventual K/S.
1. Prologue

**A/N: Guess what, kiddies. It's Valentine's Day. And we all know what that means, rights? Mushy-gushy love stories that are so cute they make you want to vomit. Or...that could just be cold-hearted me ;) Anyway, this is a story I came up with awhile back, and yes, sadly, it will have something to do with the silly holiday eventually. (I couldn't help but succumb to it. Anything that gets a story out of me, right?!) Enjoy, and feedback is always lovely.**

**This first prologue-chapter-thing goes out to Alphabet Face. Thanks for all your advice and support :)**

**-Rose**

**Disclaimer: Star Trek doesn't belong to me. But if it did, I think I'd require the men's uniforms to be pants only ;)**

**Paper Hearts**

Prologue

It all started with that photograph.

_Following the destruction of Vulcan, the victory over the Romulans, and the return to Earth, James T. Kirk had been awarded the official captaincy of the U.S.S. _Enterprise_. The entire population of Starfleet Academy was present at the ceremony, and a celebration was to occur following it. It had been a beautiful award, and as the captain looked adoringly at his badge before leaving the hall, he flashed his close friend and ally, Doctor Leonard "Bones" McCoy, a smile as he filed out of the stands. Jim had been about to join his crew, but he was stopped by Admiral Pike._

"_Hold up, son," he had called from his wheelchair in the midst of the crowd. "I want a picture. This a darn special day and it would make your father proud."_

_Jim had grinned at the admiral, grateful for his help throughout the years."Of course," he replied. He gestured to Bones, nonverbally telling him that he would join him later, but Pike had contradicted him._

"_No," he said, "I want your crew in the picture too."_

_Jim chuckled and nodded, turning his attention back to his friend. "On second thought, Bones, get your medical butt over here," he had said, and the doctor followed suit, with the Ensign Chekov, Sulu, Scotty, and Uhura in tow. They had all contributed to the mission, and it was only right that they were to document the moment as well. Despite that the crowds were densely packed, Jim could still see the grin on the senior medical officer's face. It had been a long and treacherous mission; nevertheless, it had proved successful, and the doctor was pleased along with the rest of the crew._

"_Never thought I'd say this," Bones had smirked as he reached Jim, "but I'm damn proud of you." The other man had thrown his head back and laughed as Pike rearranged the group. The six of them stood with the largest of smiles upon their faces as Pike snapped the camera, the flash illuminating their expressions. Jim thought it was truly a day to rejoice, until he saw Chekov's brows furrow in uncertainty._

"_Wait," he had said in his Russian accent, "What about Meester Spock?"_

_Bones clapped a hand to his forehead. "Dammit, Jim, we forgot your First Officer. Where is that pointy-eared hobgoblin, anyway?" _

"_Go find him, please," Pike said, exasperated. "The sooner you find him, the sooner we can head up to the party." The rest of the crew minus Jim nodded and split off in different directions to find the half-Vulcan._

_Jim sighed, ruffling his hair with one hand. His first officer was indeed important, of course, but the captain had selfishly taken his absence as beneficial to himself, for reasons he would not admit. Until Chekov had spoken up, he'd almost forgotten about Spock._

_Almost._

_Within moments, the figure in question had appeared at Jim's side, one eyebrow arched in slight confusion. "What do you require of me, Captain?" he said, glancing at the human._

"_Is it too much to ask for a single picture?" Pike said gruffly. "I don't have all day now. Could we just take this and head off to the celebration?" He fumbled with the camera as Spock protested._

"_I do not care to have my photogra—" he began, but Jim cut him off._

"_Smile, Spock," he chuckled half-heartedly, knowing full well that when the picture was developed, there would be little to no emotion on his companion's face. He turned to face Pike, grinning, though not as much as before. However, the admiral lowered the camera, wanting to create a better photograph. _

"_Get in closer," he ordered. "I don't want to cut you off."_

_Jim shrugged at Spock innocently. "Let's make a memory," he muttered, and brought his hand to Spock's shoulder that was furthest away from him, drawing him into the frame. He couldn't help but hold back a snicker as the muscles tensed under his hand, remembering how Vulcans did not desire touch often, but Spock would just have to deal with it for the sake of the picture. Rather stiffly, Spock raised his arm and mimicked Jim's movements, though it was much less graceful. The two stood side by side, a hand on each other's shoulders as Pike finally smiled._

"_Perfect," he said. "Say cheese."_

_It was at this moment, Spock realized, that his heart was pounding in his side, and he was almost positive that Jim could feel it as his body pressed up against his for the photograph. Time seemed to slow down immensely as Spock forced a partial smile, the camera flashed, and Jim shot him a sidelong glance after the fact. Oblivious to the exchange, Pike looked at the picture on the camera screen instead of the two men in front of him._

"_This is gonna be great when it's developed," he had mused. "I'll get you a copy as soon as possible." He placed the camera on his lap and wheeled up the ramp towards the exit in the hopes that there would still be food left to scavenge at the celebration. The moment he turned away, Spock removed the contact from Jim, attempting to get his physical state under control. It didn't help matters that the human was looking at him curiously, ice blue eyes widened with interest. The half-Vulcan said nothing, but nodded curtly, turning around and heading in the direction of the party as well. Kirk grimaced slightly, wishing that Spock had shown the smallest bit of enthusiasm, but he knew that it was a useless attempt. Shrugging once more, he pushed every thought out of his mind and followed Spock's retreating back to the party._

It was this very photograph that lay on the floor in the captain's quarters a year later, the memories and glass frame shattered to a million pieces; and it was then, with bloodstained hands and a broken heart, that Captain James Tiberius Kirk cried.


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N: Holy moly! I just gotta say, you are all amazing for reviewing on the prologue. Seriously. I didn't expect that much positive feedback, and knowing that so many people have added this to their favorites or subscribed has really made my day. You all make me so happy and I hope you'll enjoy this and it will be as good as you hoped in the long run. This chapter's slightly boring, but it's necessary. Stay posted for more :)**

**This chapter goes out to my Captain Leila and my First Officer Acelynn, for throwing the best Star Trek parties that anyone could dream of :D**

**P.S. Can anyone tell I love flashbacks?!**

**-Rose**

**Disclaimer: Star Trek belongs to Gene Roddenberry, not me, sadly.**

**Paper Hearts**

Chapter One

Spock thought pacing was the most ridiculous human habit that he'd ever seen.

Showing distress and inner conflict by walking back and forth across a room completely puzzled him, and he could not comprehend how it actually worked. He'd observed his captain doing it several times on the bridge in an attempt to decide a course of action for the starship. The chief medical officer did likewise, when he had a tough decision regarding the health of a fellow crewmember. The half-Vulcan had pondered whether pacing was a physical or emotional stimulant, and yet, he could not fathom its true purpose. The idea in itself was highly illogical.

It still didn't explain, however, why Spock had thrown all his thoughts aside and succumbed to the odd act in question.

Perplexity filled him as he sat on the bed in his quarters, having paced, somewhat reluctantly, for the last fifteen minutes in the hopes of answering his questions. Within the last few months, Captain James Tiberius Kirk had been on his mind more often than not, and for good reason. After the years that Spock had been in Jim's vicinity, he'd never seen his temper so quickly provoked.

That morning, for instance, he'd curiously observed Jim's anger flare at a rather insignificant occurrence. The half-Vulcan sighed as he reminisced.

"_Good morning, Captain," the hybrid had said with as much cheerfulness as he would allow, stepping onto the bridge for duty. He received no verbal response from the human, simply a curt nod from where he sat in his chair. Pausing before taking a seat at his post, Spock shifted his gaze upwards to Jim's averted eyes. "Is something troubling you?" he asked his captain._

_The response was immediate as Jim shook his head. "No," he said lowly, "there isn't anything."_

_Despite that Spock knew this to be an absolute lie, he did not press the matter. For the first time, he didn't have to; the answer was presented to him less than a minute later as a red-clad figure entered the bridge, a large basket in his hands. Spock watched with intrigue as Jim recoiled when a small red box hit him squarely in the chest._

"_What's this?" he had groaned, snapping out of his trance. His head shot up to see Scotty chucking identical boxes from the basket to the crewmembers as they slowly trickled onto the bridge one by one for duty._

"_Presents!" the engineer had said enthusiastically, and Spock could not help but listen and raise an eyebrow in slight confusion as another similar object fell into his lap. "It's a holiday comin' up, ya know."_

_Jim's fingers had clenched around the box. "This isn't necessary," he said with slightly gritted teeth. "We're not on Earth anymore and don't have to celebrate."_

"_Aw, but Captain," Scotty protested playfully, "you cannae object to a holiday that's all about—"_

"_Forget it," Jim growled, cutting him off. Spock's keen eyes noticed his captain's knuckles turning white around the unopened present. Though Spock would never openly admit it, it troubled him to the point of slight panic. The _Enterprise_ would lose the best captain she would ever have if Jim became emotionally compromised due to some unknown cause, and Spock was rather bewildered at why he was acting in such a way. His eyes narrowed slightly as Jim stood up from his chair, leaving his own box upon it and finally, but forcefully, meeting his ice blue eyes with Spock's as he left the bridge. _

_Spock would realize less than a minute later that his captain's gaze never once landed upon the object in question that stimulated his deep emotional unrest._

The half-Vulcan placed his head in his hands as the memory, and others, flooded his brain like a typhoon. It was simply too much to handle at this point, and despite his intellect being superior to the humans on the ship, he was not able to discover the answer to the puzzle either. With a sigh, he lay down on his bed and closed his eyes, but no avail. Sleep would never arrive if he was this overcome with thoughts. It nearly 2300 hours, past time that he should have been in bed, but Spock knew well enough that if something was troubling his captain, it would more or less affect him on the upswing.

His emotional connection with Jim was strong, no doubt about that, but the hybrid had never bothered to comprehend how deep the ties ran. However, if they were as full of meaning as he assumed, then he could not help but question why Jim had not come to him with his problem. The entire situation was proving to be completely irrational.

His eyes fluttered open regrettably, staring at the darkened ceiling. Relaxing his mind would be the only way to aid him in sleep. Sitting up, he slipped his feet back into his boots and left his quarters, hoping that a brisk walk throughout the ship might clear his mind and soothe him. His legs ached with tiredness as he walked, though his mind was full, and having made the decision, he could not stop until he found a solution. The lights in the corridors were eerily lit, and Spock did his best to pay no attention to them. The last thing he needed was a confirmation of the troubling matters.

Within minutes, he arrived at the bridge, completely alone. The ship was at a standstill for the night and it was completely dark apart from the small lights upon the machinery. Spock breathed quietly, the silence almost making him shiver. He lamented leaving his quarters; the surroundings were doing him more harm than good. Placing a hand on the doorframe for stability, he looked around the bridge. In a few hours, he'd be back on duty, back in the comforting atmosphere of the crew. He'd begun to rely on Sulu, Chekov, Uhura, Scotty, and even Bones, but although they had become his allies over the years, and grown more close-knit as they battled the dangers of space together, it was puzzling how none of them were able to discover their captain's secret when they were in his company each day.

As he pondered this, Spock realized something that completely changed his course of action for the evening. His eyes widened, breath hitching in his throat as he nearly jumped, but found the willingness to restrain himself, watching as he saw a shadow move towards the center of the bridge.

He was not alone.

"May I help you, Spock?" a voice said softly, but with slight strain to it. Spock peered at the figure in the darkness, verbally commanding the computer to turn on the lights. His accusation had been correct; the familiar sandy blonde hair and pale skin proved that it had indeed been Jim who had spoken. His back was to Spock yet again as he sat in the chair, staring at the empty space through the window. Spock inclined his head to the side, confused.

"Well, Cap—"

"For God's sake," Jim said, losing his patience at a quicker pace than Spock had anticipated. "We're off duty now. You can call me Jim."

"Jim…" Spock said slowly, testing out the name lightly. He continued to speak to his captain's back, as he dared not look him in the eye. "It is rather late. However, since you are in my vicinity, it is only logical for me to inquire about your emotional state. It does not appear to be entirely under control, and I was merely—"

He was cut off yet again. "Leave it be," Jim murmured, though his voice was neither a calming nor quiet sound.

"I am simply curious," replied Spock. "Will you deny me an answer?"

The human sighed in frustration, desiring for the first time in his life that Spock would leave his presence. He pondered whether or not allowing Spock into his mind would make things better or worse. Jim wasn't one to normally want to sit down and talk about what was bothering him; he would much rather pursue the answer himself, but it had been so long, far too long, since he had been happy. Taking a chance, he said quietly. "It's nothing. Just…a stupid Earth holiday, is all. Just Valentine's Day."

"Val-an-times?" Spock mispronounced slowly, raising an eyebrow in slight confusion.

"Yes, Spock, Valentine's," Kirk groaned. "Now can we drop the matter?"

"But—"

"Spock, I'm practically begging you," Jim said, exasperated, gripping tighter on the arm of his chair. "Please."

Spock's willingness to cooperate with his captain was running short as well. "Indeed, yet the safety of the crew is possibly—"

"Don't you understand English?" Jim roared, leaping out of his chair and forcibly turning his body to look at Spock. His eyes were red and bloodshot, the dark circles under them profound, and his face was pale, much paler than Spock had ever seen. In spite of looking unwell, he continued. "Look, I know you're half-alien and all, but if you could compute what I am saying, it would make things a hell of a lot easier."

Spock let out a difficult breath, not realizing until that moment that he had been holding it in the entire time. He was quiet for a moment, simply staring at Jim's distressed form. He did not understand what this was, this _Valen-tinnes_, but if it was the source of suffering for him, then Spock would do everything he could to solve the problem. And yet, Jim did not appear willing to oblige to assistance. Provoking him would be extremely unwise, since the human was not one to openly admit his distress. However, his captain rarely said what was on his mind otherwise, and Spock decided that if infuriating Jim was the only way to solve the problem, then he would go to all measures necessary to ensure the protection of his captain and the crew.

The specific person in question glared at him from across the room as Spock's mouth opened to speak once again. "Jim, if you are not going to accept my offer of help, then it nearly proves that you are unfit for duty. Do you not care for your ship and its inhabitants?"

Jim was reaching his limit the longer that Spock continued to remain on the bridge with him, and before he knew what he was saying, the words were out of his mouth like fire, dripping with sarcasm. "Asking me if I care for my ship is like asking you if you cared about your mother," he hissed. The anger was taking over his body, controlling his speech, and he felt no regret whatsoever, not even feeling threatened in the slightest as the half-Vulcan took a threatening step towards him.

"Do not insult or bring my mother into this," he snarled, eyes narrowing at his captain. He did not understand. This was not Jim in front of him, the normally respectful and restrained Jim, the Jim that held faith for everyone and everything…the Jim that valued Spock as his First Officer and friendly acquaintance. He was troubled, swayed by the whims of anger and hidden truth.

"Then stay away from me!" Jim bellowed as he stared defiantly at Spock. "I don't want help, and I certainly don't want it from the likes of _you_!"

"What the hell's going on here?" Spock had been about to reiterate, but it was not his voice that rang out across the bridge, nor was it Jim's. Both of their heads whipped around to see another blue clad-figure in the doorway, looking extremely disgruntled that his sleep had been disturbed. He ran a hand through his unkempt, dark hair, eyes traveling from Jim, to Spock, and back again. His arms crossed in front of his chest as he leaned against the doorway. "You're going to wake up the whole goddamn crew if you keep up this racket. Now would somebody like to explain this to me, or am I going to have to confine you both in sickbay for crazed insomnia?"

Spock sighed, relieved in a sense that aid in the issue had been presented. "Doctor McCoy," he said, regulating his voice to the normal tone, "it appears that our captain is uneasy and cannot lead the crew, and therefore—"

"Ignore him, Bones," Jim interrupted, not wanting Spock to walk away with a victory. "I'm fine. Really."

The doctor, much like the Vulcan, did not believe the captain for one minute. He scanned over Jim's physique, noting his distraught and tired appearance. "I dunno, Jim," he said, slightly annoyed but concerned at the same time. "If you were as fine as you say, wouldn't you be sleeping in your quarters instead of bickering with your First Officer on the bridge?" Bones sighed and indicated to the opposite doorway, where he saw yet another figure emerge. "Look, now you have not only woken me up, but we're going to have a lethargic pilot in the morning."

Sulu yawned as he stepped out onto the bridge, still in his pajamas. "What's going on?" he murmured, rubbing an eye sleepily. "Time to go?"

Jim let out an aggravated groan, regretting instantly that he had spoken to Spock in the first place. If the number of people that discovered his anguished nature increased, the consequences would be utterly disastrous. "Go to bed, all of you, and drop this matter," he barked. "That's an order."

The pilot nodded, slightly dazed, and muttered "aye, captain," as Jim stormed past him to the turbolift. Spock was immediately at his heels, making one last attempt to reveal the issue at hand and perhaps come to a conclusion.

"Jim," he said, hesitantly placing a hand on his captain's arm before he stepped into the turbolift. "Allow me to assist you. Please."

For a moment, he had the smallest intention that Jim would succumb to his inquiry. Blue eyes met with brown, sparking with intensity, and Spock hoped greatly that it would not be crushed, as it had so many times before when he had attempted to help Jim. Heart pounding, breath quickening, he raised an eyebrow in an unspoken question, as if to say, "_Well?_"

It went unanswered, however, as Jim wrenched his arm out of Spock's grip, tearing his eyes away and stepping into the turbolift, closing the doors and disappearing before his pursuer could say another word. Spock's arm remained outstretched for a moment before he let it fall to his side, simply staring at the place where his captain had stood merely seconds earlier. With great difficulty, he managed to turn his body and head back to the bridge. Sulu had disappeared, most likely gone back to bed, but Bones was still there, his eyes transfixed upon the door through which Jim had gone. The doctor shook his head slowly, not daring to look the hybrid in the eyes.

"He's never been like that" he whispered, almost in fear. "What did you _do_?"

Spock's face was expressionless, but inside, his head was abuzz with sentiments and questions. His words were slow as he replied to the doctor. "I do not know."

Bones sighed and left the bridge to go back to sleep, muttering quietly to himself. Spock knew nothing about what he was saying, but for the record, he didn't care. His mind was wrapped around nothing but his departed captain. Whether or not he would be given another opportunity to help him was entirely up to luck and chance. He mimicked the doctor's actions, but kept his words inside his mind as he shut the lights off and left for his own quarters. He was nearly as confused and conflicted as Jim was, though for reasons unknown. There was little likelihood that he would be able to sleep now, and the half-Vulcan only knew one thing for certain.

He was sure as hell not going to let this go.


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N: At last, at last, this chapter is completed! Took me awhile to get it right. The beginning's a tad boring, but I promise you, it's gonna get really good soon (at least, I hope so). Feedback makes my day. Love you all for doing so. Enjoy!**

**This one goes out to Leila, for constantly putting up with my Spork obsession even though she's a huge Kirk fan :)**

**Disclaimer: Star Trek belongs to Gene Roddenberry, yadda yadda yadda, etc. **

**-Rose**

Chapter Two

It was quiet on the _Enterprise_ the following morning when news of the events on the bridge had somehow reached the ears of every crewmember, though none of them dared speak of it above a hushed tone. Rumors spread like wildfire throughout the ship despite that the captain, First Officer, and doctor were the only ones to know the true scenario, and even they had their confusions. Spock, as per usual, kept his head high and his mouth shut, showing no physical or emotional change. Unlike Sulu and Bones, there were no prominent purple shadows under his eyes, nor was he yawning every few minutes. The combination of Spock's seemingly uncaring attitude and lack of sleep certainly irritated the CMO.

"God, man, you could at least pretend that it matters to you!" he had fired at the hybrid as he reported for duty.

Still, Spock would never admit to the raging thoughts in his mind, nor would he confront his captain about it unless he was absolutely certain with what he wanted to say. He had not seen him throughout the day, knowing full well that Kirk was avoiding him at all costs, but the half-Vulcan was perfectly content with that. Until Kirk's temper had lessened, they would not make any progress. And even so, Spock was unsure if he could handle it.

Even when he was engrossed in his work, his mind couldn't stray far from his captain. It was undeniable that he had been immersed in his mind to such a degree that almost everything reminded him of Jim, from the bushel of apples he saw at breakfast to the mere glint of a gold shirt…and no matter what he did, despite his intellectual prowess, he couldn't fathom why he thought of his captain so frequently. True, he was worried about him, but Spock simply did not know if there was a phrase to express what he was pondering. It was utterly frustrating, though he would never say so.

"Commander?"

Spock's head shot out of the clouds and back to reality, and he realized quickly that he'd been standing in the entryway of the mess hall for around five minutes, until a small figure had surprised him from behind. The hybrid did not jump, but he had been thinking so deeply that his heart rate accelerated ever so slightly. Turning around, he saw the curious face of the small Russian Ensign, and immediately felt the smallest sense of disappointment.

"Is somezing wrong?" Chekov asked innocently, his head tilted to one side. He held a small sandwich in his hand, obviously preparing to enter the room and sit down for lunch.

Spock inclined his head slightly, altering his body in order to let the boy pass by and clearing his face of all emotion. "Of course not, Mr. Chekov," he replied slowly.

The gold-clad figure did not buy Spock's blank expression for one minute. "Zen…why are you standing in ze middle of ze doorway?" he inquired. "Are you looking for someone?"

"I am not," Spock retaliated. "I am merely…observing." It wasn't a complete lie, but nevertheless, he clenched his fingers nonchalantly. Chekov shrugged, realizing that uncovering Spock's true intentions would be more difficult than simply ignoring it. As he started to walk away, the First Officer's heart sank slightly with crushed hope. He realized then, with a plaguing, deep curiosity, that he had little choice but to trust the navigator with a part of the truth.

"Mr. Chekov?"

The boy spun around, his sandwich already halfway to his mouth before he had even taken a seat when he heard his name spoken softly from the hybrid's lips. From across the room, Uhura and Sulu were watching intently, waiting for the Russian to come sit at their table. Instead, they exchanged a curious glance as the commander spoke softly to Chekov, his face bent close to avoid being overheard.

"What could they possibly be talking about?" Uhura murmured to the pilot, stabbing her bowl of fruit with her fork in anticipation.

Sulu yawned, still exhausted from the previous night and lack of sleep. "No clue," he mumbled, his eyes fixated on the Russian, who was now nodding eagerly and smiling.

"Walentine's Day?" the boy had exclaimed, but was quickly hushed by the half-Vulcan. Chekov grinned and apologized in a lower tone before continuing. "What do you wish to know? Are you planning somezing special?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Spock noticed the linguist and pilot staring, both of whom quickly blushed and averted their gaze. The half-Vulcan mitigated his tone even more. "Nothing of the ordinary, Mr. Chekov," he said. "I do, however, wish to know the sort of things that occur."

The navigator's face lit up. "Oh, you _do_ hawe somezing in mind, don't you?" Spock began to protest, but Chekov continued anyway. "Back home, in Russia, we always decorated in red and white. It was splendid." He paused, grinning widely at Spock before continuing. "My mozzer always read ze classic stories on zis day. It was wery peaceful."

Spock nodded curtly, thanking the navigator. "It is much appreciated, Mr. Chekov." His eyes drifted once more to the watchful table in the back. "And…please do not speak of this to another person, is that clear?"

The boy's eyes widened with surprise and question, but he agreed nevertheless, not daring to disobey Spock's orders. "Of…of course, Commander."

Without another word, Spock turned on his heel and strode out of the mess hall entirely, leaving Chekov to stare after him peculiarly. He had not been the only one; their exchange had been noticed by the majority of the occupants of the mess hall. It made little difference, however, to Spock's perspective. He still held very little information on this holiday, and it was absolutely essential to have as much as possible if he wanted to discover what was wrong with his captain. Though, in all honesty, the First Officer had no idea how a holiday about colors and books could stir such a drastic response in a normally composed person like Jim.

Unless, of course, there was more to the story…

There must be. There _had_ to be. Spock just thought he might go insane otherwise.

* * *

In the stomach of the ship, said captain was running recklessly through the engine room despite the caution signs hung up around every corner. His heart pounded, breathing uneven as he went, in search of one particular acquaintance of his. It was his last hope entirely for any reassurance to his disrupted emotions, and Jim was entirely willing to do whatever it took to ease the pain. He panted slightly, catching sight of a familiar redshirt.

"Scotty!"

The redshirt turned around at the sound of his name, and grinned when he saw Jim approach him. "Afternoon, Captain," he said, grinning cheekily. "Happy Valentine's Day!"

Jim shook his head quickly. "Never mind that," he growled, much to the engineer's surprise. It was then that Scotty noticed the pale skin that defined the captain's features, his eyes losing their gleaming reassurance. They were wide and bloodshot, with purple bags underneath them. He realized that the voice that called him was not chipper as per usual, but sounded weak and tired.

Cocking his head to one side, Scotty looked at Jim with a concerned expression and said, "Everythin' all right?"

The voice in Jim's head noticed the weakness arising, and the truthful words fought to surface to his lips. _No._

"Yeah. I'm fine." _You're a liar, Jim Kirk._

"Are ye sure, laddie?" Scotty inquired, his face creasing with concern. "You're not lookin' too good. Sleep enough?"

_Of course not. I was up half the night arguing with my closest friend, my First Officer, and you're asking me if I slept?_

"Of course I slept enough."

Scotty sighed, running a hand through his thin hair. He knew that Jim was lying completely, and though he didn't want to press the matter, he felt as if he had no choice. "What are ye thinking about?"

_Spock._

Jim froze. He was eternally grateful that he had not said this statement out loud, but he was so close to his breakdown point that it was overwhelming. Not once would he ever admit that his hybrid friend was causing him internal strife, but he was becoming an expert at hiding it. For the time being, he refused to let his internal thoughts win over his heart. Snarling angrily, he pushed his subconscious out of his mind. "Listen, I need you to do something for me."

* * *

_Jim…Jim…Jim…_

The name pounded mercilessly in his head as Spock left the bridge temporarily for a few moments of quiet thinking. It was useless, however, as the mantra repeated with no end in sight. Each light footfall of the half-Vulcan pushed the name further into his mind, making his entire body feel heavier than it should. Not only was he unable to comprehend what he wanted to know, but strangely, he also could not help but wonder why his captain visited his mind so frequently. Indeed, he was concerned, but there appeared to be no logical explanation for his sentiments, or perhaps lack thereof. It simply seemed that there were no words, human, Vulcan, or otherwise, to express himself. The logic did not make any sense whatsoever, and even if it had, he was unable to comprehend any of it. As much as he regretted it, he was in desperate need of assistance.

Spock pushed open the door that read _Botany_ on the outside, knowing full well that the pilot visited every day at 1500 hours to observe his plants for awhile before going back to his post. As hoped, he was alone, carefully tending to the leaves of an overwhelmingly large plant with orange flowers. Sulu heard the door close from behind him, and he straightened up, looking over his shoulder to see the hybrid.

"Why, hello, Mr. Spock," he said, though with a slightly worried and sleepy edge to his voice. He was still exhausted from the previous night, and knew well enough that the commander would hardly ever think of speaking with him unless he had an important matter to discuss, but Sulu pushed it aside. "What brings you here? Oh, and careful, these flowers will spray pollen when provoked."

The half-Vulcan nodded slightly, sidestepping the massive plant. "I have an inquiry, Mr. Sulu."

"Oh?" the pilot murmured, placing down the leaf clippers he was holding. Questions buzzed through his mind, though he remained content. "And what might that be, sir?"

Spock took a somewhat deep breath before speaking. "I have noticed that the captain's behavior has been rather abnormal recently. Have you noticed any particular change?"

The pilot upturned his lips in an apologetic half-smile. "I'm not entirely sure," he said slowly, averting his eyes, which did not go unnoticed. "He seems troubled by something, but about what, I don't know…" His voice trailed off slightly as he resumed caring for the plant. "Does it worry you?"

"Vulcans do not worry," Spock inserted quickly, avoiding any assumptions that Sulu could have possibly made. In an effort to defer any further conversation about Jim, which, quite frankly, was internally wounding him, he changed the subject and said, "About this human holiday of yours…might that be today?"

Sulu smiled fully at this. "Oh, right, it _is_ Valentine's Day, isn't it? Looks like we've been lacking in celebratory spirit…well, apart from Mr. Scott, that is." He chuckled to himself in an attempt to obtain a similar reaction, but it was no use. Spock's face was as still as stone, nearly sucking the happiness right out of the pilot. Awkwardly, he cleared his throat, watering his plant carefully. "Why the sudden interest in Valentine's Day?"

The hybrid shrugged. "No particular reason. But I am curious, Mr. Sulu. How is it celebrated, exactly? The purpose of it escapes me entirely."

A full laugh erupted from Sulu's lips this time, placing his watering can on the table. "It's a rather nice holiday," he started, "depending on the way you see it. Normally, a person gives cards, called 'valentines,' to people they care about. Sometimes chocolate too."

"Chocolate?" Spock cocked an eyebrow in bewilderment. Cards, chocolate, red and white…what kind of holiday was this, anyway?

"Mm-hmm," Sulu mumbled, focusing almost completely on his plant, which had begun to leak nectar. "And flowers, of course," he added, gazing adoringly at the ones in front of him.

"Fascinating."

Sulu had begun to reply to him, but the half-Vulcan took no notice of it, for he had already made an about-face and turned to leave botany, abandoning Sulu and his vast array of plants. Now that he had just a little bit more information, he could begin to arrange the puzzle pieces together, though the answer still evaded him completely. He breathed slowly and gently, being careful to contain himself as he strode through the corridors and back to the bridge, ignoring any friendly greeting that was given to him from the crewmembers he passed by. His mind was simply elsewhere, and until he could find a solution to his troubles, it would remain that way. He would simply have to find other means of coping.

"_There_ you are!"

Mild confusion swept through the hybrid as he stepped off the turbolift and onto the bridge once more, hearing the voice of Bones reach his ears. He stared at the doctor inquisitively as the former approached him, his body tense. Clearly, something was running through his mind, hoping that Spock could be the answer.

"What is so disconcerting?" the half-Vulcan asked, his eyes traveling from Bones' narrowed eyebrows, to the fearful glint in his eyes, to his hunched and deeply thoughtful posture. He walked over to the doctor, attempting to decode his expression.

"It's about Jim, Spock."

The moment that the hybrid heard the name of his captain, his heart lurched, for reasons unknown, which troubled him on an immense level. His throat became dry, palms sweaty, but he brushed it aside. Simple…concern. That's what he reassured himself it was. "What about him?"

Bones sighed. "Well, he—"

"Commander! Doctor!"

Chekov's strong Russian accent filled the bridge as the doors to the turbolift rushed open and he raced inside to where the two blue-clad figures had been engaged in conversation, completely interrupting the doctor. Bones immediately looked up, his eyes wide with interest. "What is it, kid?"

The Ensign could barely breathe enough to speak. "He's _gone_, sir! Keptin Kirk is…gone."

The moment that Chekov had said this, the bridge turned dead quiet. Any Starfleet member that had been talking to their neighbor, leaving their post, or simply engaged in work had frozen completely. The silence hung in the air dreadfully, no one daring to break it. _Captain Kirk…gone?_ Only Spock had the sheer nerve to say something, but even his heart was pounding in its cavity.

"Gone?" he repeated slowly. "I do not understand what you mean by such."

Bones growled in frustration. "Gone means gone, Spock. Has _anyone_ seen him at all today?"

Chekov bit his lip. "Not since breakfast, sir."

Spock nodded in agreement. "I merely thought that he was in his quarters today, regaining his rest. He looked rather pallid last evening. It is…highly illogical that a human being could go missing on a ship when it is traveling at warp speed in the middle of space."

"Do you have any goddamn sense at all?" Bones roared, glaring at the hybrid fiercely. "There are a thousand places he could be. He could have taken a shuttle, beamed down somewhere…he could even be hiding on the _Enterprise_ in a place where nobody could find him. Jim could be absolutely anywhere." He rounded on the navigator. "Did you check all over this ship?"

"Everywhere, sir."

Bones' words were released with bitterness to them, his own indication of fear. He knew very little of Jim's predicament, and even if he had, there would have been only a minute amount of help he could provide to stop it. The entire crew was still motionless, hardly believing what was occurring, the bridge never having been so quiet. This time, even Spock had nothing to say. His breathing was constricted and quiet, though his lungs strained on the inside. It took every bit of self-restraint he had to withhold the shouts he wanted to produce from the overwhelming emotion.

Just then, the doors to the turbolift opened, and a familiar face entered the bridge. All eyes shot towards the figure, but no avail. It was indeed Scotty, not the much-anticipated captain. The engineer had been whistling to himself, feeling rather upbeat, but immediately faltered at the blank expressions of his fellow crewmembers. He stopped short in his tracks, turning to face the First Officer and CMO.

"What's goin' on?" he inquired peculiarly.

"Keptin is missing," Chekov wailed, wringing his hands.

The doctor placed a hand on the boy's shoulder reassuringly, looking at Scotty with curiosity. "Seen him today, Mr. Scott?"

The half-Vulcan immediately recognized Scotty's hesitance to answer. The redshirt's eyes skimmed over the faces of the crew, all of whom were staring back at him. Unbeknownst to them, he withheld more information than they could have ever imagined, but he was in no position to give any of it away unless a life depended on it.

It seemed as though Spock could read his mind, for his eyes narrowed at the engineer. "Mr. Scott, if you know anything of the captain's whereabouts, do say something. His life could be at risk."

Scotty's gaze shot over to the hybrid. "No, Commander…I—I cannae say I do." He was tentative and cautious, with no one seeing through it apart from Bones and Spock. He regretted saying anything, but just as he was going to depart the room and lock himself in his quarters to ponder what he had done, he saw the doctor's eyes widen with true fright.

"Oh _dammit_," Bones groaned, removing the hand from Chekov's shoulder and clapping it to his forehead. He looked at the Ensign with intrigue. "Today would be the forty-fifth day of the Earth year, am I right? It's a holiday?" Chekov nodded, raising an eyebrow in question. Spock looked at him with a similar expression, though much more composed. The doctor sighed, for the first time in his life wishing that he was wrong.

"I know exactly where he is."


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N: Lalala, I just gotta say that all you reviewers and favoriters and stuff out there really make me happy. Like super, SUPER happy. Even if I'm having a bad day, it makes everything better. Here's the much-awaited Chapter Three! I'm dedicating this one to myself, 'cause it was just my birthday, and I got inspired. For those of you that have seen Star Trek XI/have the soundtrack, y'know that French horn intro in the beginning? I can play that now. :)**

**So yeah. End of ramble. Review please? More reviews equal faster chapters!**

**-Rose**

**Disclaimer: Star Trek belongs to me. (April Fools!...two days late)**

Chapter Three

For the first time in his life, James Tiberius Kirk was happy to remain unnoticed.

Earlier that evening, he'd thrown on a black coat over his shimmering gold uniform, changing his boots for more comfortable sneakers to draw attention away from himself. His communicator had been stuffed in his pocket in case of a dire emergency, but it had been shut off. At the moment, the less contact he had with the outside world, the better. With Scotty's help, he'd snuck away to the transporter room during dinner, when the majority of the crew would be found elsewhere, and though it took much persuasion, Scotty had agreed to Jim's terms.

"If yah don't call back in an hour," he had said, staring Jim down as he pushed buttons on the transporter, "I'm comin' down there."

The captain had nodded and stood on the transporter pad, Scotty feeling utmost sympathy as he watched Jim's darkened eyes connect in understanding. The engineer would, rather regrettably, keep his promise unless otherwise needed, and he could do nothing but sigh as he watched his captain disappear from his sight.

This was how Jim had managed to escape the confinements of the _Enterprise_ and beam down to Earth, pushing open the doors to the too-familiar bar in Iowa in preparation to get as shitfaced as he possibly could.

He looked around the bar without a word as he went in, feeling remorse instead of excitement at the thought of getting drunk. The building was close to empty as he looked around; there were a few human couples scattered in private corners, and several alien species gathered at the counter, but that was it. Even the music wasn't as loud as it normally was, but it still throbbed in his ears painfully. It was truly an unfamiliar feeling, and it almost made him wish that he was back on his ship in the comfort of his own quarters, but that would be entirely counterproductive. The bar was, undoubtedly, the place for the lonely, desperate, or heartless on Valentine's Day, and it struck Jim with a painful internal force to know that he was one of them.

"Sorry," Jim mumbled as he half-heartedly took a seat at the bar, accidentally bumping into an overly large, puke-green creature that had taken a seat next to the only unoccupied barstool. The creature had a humanlike figure, apart from the charcoal, pupil-less eyes, moistened scales, and squashed nose. Despite having traveled many places across the galaxy, Jim had yet to encounter a creature like this, and could only wonder what it was doing on his home planet. Nevertheless, the creature shot him a look of disapproval and grunted before tipping back its drink and ignoring Jim completely, which suited them both all too well.

After their brief physical contact, and when Jim thought it wasn't looking, he did his best to swipe off the stinging, oozing green trail of slime that had made its way down his jacket sleeve and to his hand.

Making a slight face in disgust, he turned to look at the menu in front of him as the bartender approached him quickly, trying to decide which would be the best shot, no pun intended, to relieve him of every thought that plagued his mind. The bartender sighed as he watched Jim, deeming him as yet another single and lost soul looking for a temporary release.

"What can I do for you?" he asked kindly, and Jim noticed a slight British accent to his words. Before he could reply, however, the bartender continued. "Hey, I recognize you, kid. Jim Kirk, is it?"

The captain looked up from his menu, almost wincing at the sound of his own name. "Um…yeah. I'll have—" He stopped quickly as his eyes traveled to the bartender's face. His eyes, with the essence of the strobe lights, looked dark, black almost as they stared at Jim. And yet, there was a kind, forgiving gleam behind them, almost as if they withheld a secret. Jim shuddered slightly. Either the man before him really had such eyes, or his mind was playing tricks on him, because the longer he stared, the more he was reminded of a specific Vulcan.

Jim gritted his teeth and smacked down the menu. "Just give me the strongest thing you have," he ordered, though with a slight edge of regret to his words. He hated to be rude and forceful, but his patience was hanging loosely by a thread.

Within moments, a tall glass was placed in front of him as the bartender quickly proceeded to fill it with a thick, amber liquid that churned Jim's stomach just by looking at it. Its visual appeal was minimal, but it smelled delightfully like peppermint, which instantly began to soothe the captain's nerves.

"This'll cure anything you've got," the bartender said lightly, pushing the glass towards Jim and walking away, leaving the distressed captain to his thoughts. The Starfleet member gave a nod as a nonverbal thank-you and raised the glass to his lips.

It tasted absolutely terrible; Jim spluttered and coughed as it slid down his throat, the alcohol hot and burning as it made its way through his body. His keen peripheral vision caught sight of the creature next to him, who had turned to glare in disgust at Jim's reaction, gripping its own glass in irritation. The captain muttered yet another apology before catching his breath and allowing the drink to fill his system.

The bartender certainly hadn't lied when he said that it would help Jim's ailments, since the captain could already feel the comfortable haze within him that only happened when he was shitfaced. He felt his body temperature rise a degree or so, feeling more content by the second. He grinned, strangely, ignoring the looks he received from the alien to his right. Instead, he snatched the glass in his hand and gulped down another sip without gagging. It had been awhile since he drank so heavily, and it felt so good, so free…

Until the hallucinations began.

* * *

Back on the _Enterprise_, Spock was on an emotional rampage, though only mentally, of course. He refused to allow any of his fellow crewmembers to see his distraught appearance, and yet, he was only sheer moments away from destroying everything in his path. Crewmen jumped out of his way as he stormed through the corridors in an attempt to keep himself busy, but it was of little use. He'd been confronted by his closer allies, all in an attempt to reassure him. However, every effort had rendered itself useless.

_Vulcans do not worry. Vulcans do not worry._

Spock forced himself to internally repeat this mantra throughout the evening as he awaited news, any sort of news, from Bones or Scotty regarding his captain. When nothing arrived, he left Chekov with the conn on the bridge and departed for his quarters, forcing himself to meditate. Even as he squeezed his eyes shut and crossed his legs tightly, his mind kept traveling back to his missing captain. Absolutely nothing could keep his mind off of the situation, not plomeek soup, not a quick shower, not even an embrace from Uhura that he had once coveted. Even after their romantic split, she was usually able to find ways to calm his temperaments, but it was no avail this time around.

"Why don't you just talk to me? Tell me what's wrong," she had said earlier, calmly but orderly as she entered his quarters, presenting him with a cup of tea from the kitchens. Spock was still sitting cross-legged on the floor and accepted the cup, but did not drink from it.

"I cannot," he merely replied, avoiding her gaze.

She had looked at him, concerned. Throughout their relationship, she'd normally been able to decipher his minute emotions without saying much, though at this moment in time, she was utterly at a loss. "Spock," she began, "I know you well. Well enough to know when something is troubling you. I probably know you better than anyone on this ship, apart from Jim perhaps—" Spock stiffened at the mentioning of his name, but she continued anyway. "—but you just can't keep it hidden. If there is anything I can do, please…" Uhura sat down beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder and dropping her voice. "Please…let me know."

Spock's eyes shot back towards her coldly, lacking all emotion. He thrust the cup back into her hands, the tea spilling slightly over the edge onto his Starfleet pants, but he paid no attention to it. His words were monotonous but fierce as he retaliated. "There is nothing you can do."

Uhura's eyes shimmered with the onset of tears as Spock wrenched out of her touch, straightening himself and departing his quarters, leaving her behind and completely alone. At the moment, Spock was on the verge of a breakdown himself, and it took every ounce of mental stability to retain it. Nearly an hour had passed since his first realization that Jim was, undoubtedly, missing from his post, from the ship, from his existence. In times of turmoil, Jim would have gone to Spock for assistance, but the one time that Spock needed to do the same, his captain was not there. With a sigh, as Spock returned to the bridge, a thought crossed his mind, and it almost scared him to realize that it was the complete truth.

Spock fully understood now that not only did he want Jim, he _needed_ him. And before he could even stop to consider it, the thought alone had already broken Spock to pieces.

* * *

Jim hardly knew what he was thinking or feeling, but the only thing he really comprehended was that it was _real_, or as real as it could possibly get. His gaze shifted across the room, becoming hazier with each drop of alcohol he downed. The swirling images consumed him, surrounding him in a world he knew not, a world with his First Officer…his Spock…

_Whoa_, Jim thought, shaking his head slightly to rid himself of the thoughts. _His_ Spock? That phrase didn't exist in this life, or any life, for that matter.

But it did. Jim's mind, once consumed with such strong alcohol, was no place for logic. He could do little but sit on the hard barstool, gripping his glass with one hand and the countertop with the other, trying to fight the images that swam in front of his eyes.

"_Enlist in Starfleet," said a familiar voice. Admiral Pike stared him down from across the table, narrowing his eyes at the boy. Jim looked up at him, blood still streaming from his nose gently._

"_Enlist…?" he chuckled, snorting lightly. "You guys must be way down on your recruiting quota for the month –"_

"_If you're half the man your father was, Jim, Starfleet could use you," Pike replied somewhat earnestly. "You can be an officer in four years. You can have your own ship in eight. You understand what the Federation is, don't you? It's important. It's a peacekeeping and humanitarian armada–"_

"_Are we done?" Jim interrupted, eyes squinting in annoyance. _

_Pike looked at him, slightly angered by Jim's attitude, standing up to leave. "I'm done."_

The vision struck Jim quickly and fiercely as he sat at the bar, blinking his eyes in an effort to clear it. It had been a few years since he last visited this bar, talked with Pike, and been recruited. If he hadn't been at this bar that night so many years ago, gotten into that too-familiar brawl, and been rescued by Pike, he never would have joined Starfleet, never would have become captain, and most certainly never would have met Spock…

And out of all the bars in the galaxy, that was the reason why Jim had chosen this one above all others.

_His vision transformed around him, becoming his quarters on the _Enterprise_ that he knew so well. The lights were almost completely off, and it was so dark that Jim could barely see a foot in front of him as he sat on the edge of his bed. And yet, he didn't need to; his face was in his hands as he fought back tears. Even in reality, at the bar, Jim could feel his heart ache, whether or not he knew what was happening. In the vision, though, he was a complete wreck, the image of loneliness. It wasn't long, however, until he felt a warmer hand upon his, encasing his face lightly. _

"_Jim."_

_The captain looked up, his eyes struggling. He could not see the figure's face, but knew the voice like the back of his hand. A warm body slid next to him, one hand still on his cheek and the other on his back, rubbing it in circles tentatively. _

"_Spock…" Jim garbled, chest heaving with emotion. "Spock…"_

"_Shh, my t'hy'la," the Vulcan replied softly, pressing his lips to Jim's neck gently. "I am here."_

Jim smacked the glass on the countertop with so much force that the little alcohol that was left splashed up the sides. The vision had seemed so close to reality that for a split second, the captain believed it actually was. There was very little he could do besides attempt to stable his breathing, which had become more labored as the hallucination persisted. Evidently, he had been reacting quite fiercely, because he was receiving stares not only from the vile alien next to him, but from the next few down the row as well, including the bartender who leaned over the countertop in worry.

"You all right, kid?" he shouted over the incessantly loud music.

It took all of Jim's strength to force a nod in reply, the alcohol hurtling through his system faster than he deemed possible. Bits of the vision floated back in front of his eyes despite his attempt to throw it off. There were so many questions, but the main one remained intact: what the hell was Spock doing in his visions, calling him a word he did not know, calling him his "t'hy'la"?

Either way, Jim decided (rather drunkenly, to say the least) that he had spent enough time at the bar and needed to escape into the night air. Slapping some money on the counter, he dizzily swung his body off the barstool, but not without promptly tripping over the creature's giant foot. He landed on the floor with a grunt and a thud, feeling his face redden with both embarrassment and intoxication. Distinctly, Jim heard the harsh clinking of a glass on the countertop and the slight squeak of the turning barstool above him. He coughed violently, instantly regretting having ever set foot in this godforsaken place.

In an instant, he was lifted off the floor by the back of his jacket, and spun around to look at the figure in the eyes. He felt the creature's hot breath waft over his face, the dark eyes lacking any sentiments, a low growl emitting from its throat. Evidently, it spoke little to no English as it began yelling at Jim in an alien language, shaking his shoulders roughly. It seemed not to comprehend Jim's weakened sentences, but then again, he was so drunk that his voice had dropped to a mumbled slur.

"Please," the captain grumbled pathetically. "Lemme go…"

Whether or not he had been understood, it made little difference. The breath shot out of Jim's lungs rapidly as he felt the creature's hand tighten around his throat, lifting him several inches off the ground. He could hear screamed protests in the background, voices he did not know struggling for his life to be saved. And yet, as he spluttered and coughed, the world growing hazy, Jim paid little attention to his surroundings, none of which mattered in the slightest. Like the old saying, his life flashed before his eyes, recalling the last times he'd been choked: by Nero, by Spock…

Jim gagged, battling for oxygen against the force compressing him, his consciousness slowly fading from the combination of intoxication and lack of air. A dark, greenish secretion from the creature's body splattered onto his clothes and bare skin, singeing it more fiercely than it had when it had merely dripped onto his hand. Now, the prolonged exposure his neck had to the acid was burning, searing; his mouth was open in a silent scream for mercy. Back on the _Enterprise_, they would never know he died, never know his turmoil, and in truth, he thought they would be much better off, knowing how weak he truly was on the inside. Spock's face flashed through his eyes briefly as his windpipe closed, sending him a trite, but heartened, mental farewell.

"_Jim_!"

His body fell to the floor with a thud as the creature released him in surprise, ducking as a phaser beam just barely passed over its head. The captain coughed once more, the air rushing into his lungs gratefully, his vision clearing (or as clear as it logically could when he was drunk). The creature snarled, backing out of the way as a blue-clad human approached them, wielding a phaser tightly. Within seconds, the figure had rushed over to the wheezing, intoxicated man on the floor, immediately grasping his wrists to detect a pulse.

"Dammit, Jim," Bones growled. "Must I always save your sorry ass? Come on."

Once he'd regulated his breathing, Jim was thrown into an absolute fit of giggles at the figure, his drunkenness affecting his subconscious. He sported a rather childlike grin as the doctor wrapped one of Jim's arms around his own shoulders, supporting him. With a grunt, Bones heaved his friend off the floor, muttering to himself about Jim constantly getting himself into mischief. The two staggered as they made their way out of the bar, receiving an apologetic look from the bartender, yet a less sympathetic one from the creature who had attempted to strangle Jim. With a snarl, it grumbled to itself in its alien language before sitting down at the bar again.

"Thanks, Spock," Jim garbled as the two headed for the door into the cooler night. Bones had hoped that a bit of fresh air before heading back on the _Enterprise_ would clear Jim's brain a bit, but he was evidently highly mistaken.

"It's me, you imbecile," Bones growled. "Leonard McCoy? Your best friend that saves your damn life more often than not?" He sighed as he helped Jim to the curb, sitting him down carefully on the edge. His captain, in his intoxicated state, however, seemed not to understand.

"You're the best, Spock," Jim slurred, standing up and placing both of his hands on either of Bones' shoulders, looking him rather drunkenly in the eye. His vision was blurry, only taking in the dark hair and blue shirt and not the details of the doctor's face. Swaying gently, he sighed, far too under the influence to comprehend anything. "I love you, man."

"Goddammit, Jim, don't be such a—" Bones spoke quickly, interrupting Jim before his words fully reached the medic's keen ears; he promptly cursed in realization and pain as Jim collapsed forward onto him, finally blacking out from intoxication. He was quiet for a moment, his limbs staggering under the combined weight as he pondered his newfound awareness.

Of course. It all made sense. Jim's drunken words were, invariably, his sober thoughts, and if Jim loved Spock as he said, then Bones had no reason to doubt him whatsoever.

Sighing, he reached for his belt and pulled out a communicator. "McCoy to _Enterprise_. Get us outta here. I found him."


	5. Chapter 4

**A/N: It's here, here, finally here! Chapter Four. (Or five, whatever you like to say, if you count prologues and that stuff). I'm SO excited. Really. But I guarantee that y'all are gonna hate me by the end of it. Either that, or you'll have a big WTF expression on your face. Let me know which one happens in your lovely reviews :) They're like chocolate for me. They make me happy _and_ make me write better! How awesome is that?**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek, blah blah blah, Gene Roddenberry owns, yep.**

**For my sister-at-heart, Chance, who's not a huge slash girl, but she should know how much I love her dearly :)**

* * *

**Paper Hearts**

Chapter Four

Throughout his entire life, Spock never really bothered nor cared to figure out how long he could hold his breath, but it ultimately proved to be an exceptionally long time, which he soon realized from the moment that Bones reappeared on the transporter pad, supporting an unconscious Jim with both arms.

"He's a sight for sore eyes," the doctor grumbled as he stepped down, quickly being aided by Scotty and Sulu, "but we'll fix him up in no time."

Spock stood in the doorway, frozen solid as the navigator and engineer struggled to pass by him, their captain's arms draped over their shoulders. The hybrid remained unblinking and immobile as Jim was removed from his view, but he nearly reeled backwards at the brief look he received from Bones. Their eyes collided for the slightest moment, and Spock saw something in the medic's darkened orbs, but what it could be, he did not know. Perhaps it was forgiveness, remorse, or understanding, none of which Bones had ever conveyed to the half-Vulcan. In fact, his usual manner was quite the opposite. And yet, despite being rendered completely wordless and flooded with emotions, it was oddly calming.

The doctor gave Spock a curt nod before following the party out, leaving the hybrid alone in the transporter room.

Once Jim had been taken to sickbay, his vital signs checked, and been given a mild sedative, waiting was the only other option. Bones prowled around like a jungle cat, keeping his eyes on his best friend. He'd let Jim out of his sight once and absolutely refused to do so again. Nobody was allowed in medical bay, not even Spock, who had attempted to enter soon afterwards.

"Stay out, Spock," the doctor had growled to the Science Officer. "He's sleeping. There's not really much ya can do."

The First Officer's eyes were gloomy at the words. "That may be so," he had said, "but does it prevent me from simply staying if I so choose?"

Bones had grimaced. "In fact, it does," he replied harshly. "Since I am his attending physician, _I_ get to decide any course of action. So now, I'm deciding that you should just go, Spock, before I really get pissed."

Spock quirked an eyebrow. "That would be unwise," he had responded lightly, but obeyed the doctor's orders. The absolute last thing he wanted was to anger Bones, for he knew all too well how _that _would turn out.

The hybrid stifled a shudder at the memory and left sickbay, glancing one final time at his captain before finding something to occupy his mind.

It only took an hour or so for the medicine to wear off, and by the time it had, it was a few hours past midnight. The remainder of the crew would be awake soon, but Jim was already feeling much better, and it only took him a few moments to realize that there was another figure moving in sickbay with him.

"Bones? What are you doing up this early?"

The captain's voice nearly scared the doctor out of his skin, nearly dropping the tray of tools he was holding. "Goddammit, Jim, must you do that?" he snapped, leaning forward to pick up the fallen scalpel. His words cut like razors; dark circles were present under his eyebrows. Curiosity shot through Jim's body, but he knew better than to ask of his friend's condition.

"How long have I been here?" he griped, rubbing his forehead gently.

Bones shrugged. "Lost count of the hours, what with all my tests, updating records, Spock's idiotic attempt to visit—"

Jim's heart skipped a beat. "Spock was here?" he said, his gaze shooting upward to look at his friend.

"Mhmm…" Bones grumbled in reply as he organized half a dozen shiny metal tools on the tray. Once he was satisfied, he turned his body, looking the injured man in the eye. "Listen, Jim. Do you remember _anything_ from last night?"

The captain bit his bruised lip slightly, thinking as much as his headache would allow. "Not much," he responded softly. "The last thing I remember was collapsing on the floor…after…" His voice trailed off, both in lack of remembrance and fear of the past. He'd been so sure that he died, so sure that he had escaped the surrounding world and disappeared off the face of the planet, but no avail. Here he lay, in the vicinity of his best friend, having no idea how he got there, but only knowing that he had caused an immense amount of trouble in the process.

"Think," Bones said, almost exasperated, striding over and sitting on the edge of the sickbed. He peered at Jim anxiously, losing hope that he could recall anything. "Don't you remember what you said?"

Terror struck Jim hard, as if he'd been shot with the stun setting of a phaser. He froze, having no idea how to respond to Bones' query. In his drunken stupor, he could have said anything, having no control over his actions. Peering at the doctor's unusually creased forehead and wide eyes only made the matter worse. "No. Tell me, Bones, please?"

The CMO groaned to himself, massaging his temples with his fingers. "Well, after I carried your drunken self off the floor and out of that godforsaken bar, we went out to the curb. I had hoped your head would be cleared with the air, but…" He stopped mid-sentence, unsure of how to go on. "Dammit, Jim, are you really gonna make me repeat it?"

Jim's head cocked to the side in question, his icy blue orbs narrowed with curiosity and dread. "Was it…was it really that bad?" he questioned, his voice almost a whisper.

Bones, much to his dismay, nodded.

"Uhm…kinda," he muttered, having no desire to repeat the events of the previous night. His eyes were averted, tearing them away from the intriguing blues that stared back at him. He had little choice but to continue, though he did so rather regrettably. "Well…when I came in the bar, you mistook me for Spock," he said slowly and hesitatingly. "You really had no idea it was me."

The breath hitched in Jim's throat as he instantly felt a pang of guilt. Here was his own faithful, loyal best friend, who had certainly saved him from an unknown death and been by his side since their days at the Academy. And yet, Jim felt as if he'd thrown all that away in a single night and betrayed him. "Oh," he said in response, ever so quietly. "And—and then?"

Bones sighed, running a hand through his hair. His brain told his vocal chords to stay silent and keep his mouth shut, but his aching chest had other important matters, forcing the words through the medic's mouth like an unpleasant vomit. "After I dragged you out…" he began, clenching his fists out of Jim's view, "you still didn't know. You came up to me, looked me in the eye and said…I-I love you."

It was the first time Bones had uttered these words to another since his days with Jocelyn, and he immediately felt his face redden with embarrassment and panic. Had the words come out too sincere, too obvious? They tasted bitter, sour, and he bit his tongue with his teeth nonchalantly, removing himself from the edge of the bed. He aimlessly wandered to a corner, leaning against the wall, not looking in Jim's direction.

"Look, Jim," he sighed, running a hand though his dark hair. "I don't care who you choose to be attracted to, be it Spock, or an Orion girl, or whatever." He was lying through his teeth, and he knew it, but Jim's half-conscious state would prevent him from distinguishing the truth from the false. "You're my best friend and I just want ya happy."

The captain's face softened slightly. "Oh," he said again, a little louder this time around. His fingers fidgeted with the hospital-esque blanket that one of the nurses (or perhaps Bones, he couldn't be sure) had placed on him during the night. The doctor across from him knew his darkest secret, the one that Jim wouldn't even admit to himself. Now that it was out in the open, however, it was undeniable.

"Th-thanks, Bones," he murmured, finally regaining his voice slightly. "I guess…I guess I feel better now that you know. I mean, if anyone had to know, I'm glad it's you."

Bones' head turned over his shoulder to look at his captain. The eyes were soft, shiny, forgiving. A final lie escaped his lips as he nodded once before leaving sickbay, a restless night ahead of him.

"Me too, kid."

* * *

Jim couldn't sleep. Most of the day crew were at their posts, though Jim's closest allies were all asleep. The doctor had ordered that Jim remain bedridden for the rest of the day and into the next morning, just to ensure that his vital signs would remain stable, since God knows what actually happened down on the planet. His icy blue eyes stared straight up at the ceiling in med bay, completely empty apart from a sleeping Ensign that had come in earlier that day with a broken arm. His light snores filled the dreaded silence, and Jim sighed, wishing he could rest as carefree as the rest of the inhabitants. Thoughts penetrated his mind in all forms, reality slowly slipping away and being replaced by unanswered questions, most of them surrounding a particular Science Officer.

The first thing Jim had wanted to do when he woke up was to see Spock, but dared not express this in Bones' presence, and especially after their earlier confrontation. The captain of the _Enterprise_ no longer had any choice but to admit the truth, now that it had been released from his lips and witnessed by his closest friend.

Jim was, without a doubt, absolutely infatuated with Spock.

The thought alone made him bite his lip in defiance. _Spock_, of all people? It made little to no sense at all; and yet, the longer that Jim pondered it, it seemed…logical. Spock had been there in every difficult situation after their encounter with Nero. He had stood right beside Jim in the picture that began their stronger friendship, had advised him whether or not to beam down to an unexplored planet, and had even acted as captain beautifully in Jim's stead when Jim was bedridden with a nasty cold for several days. Still, Jim was losing hope bit by bit. He doubted entirely that Spock felt absolutely anything in return, and the captain would simply have to deal with his sentiments until they passed, though he was unsure of how long that process would take. Maybe one month, maybe forever, but he would know for the remainder of his life that he had once been in love with Spock.

Jim was startled momentarily as he heard a stifling cry from across the room. His eyes shot over to the Ensign in the sickbed across from him, who had awoken from his slumber and was now writhing in pain. His free arm clutched the one that was bound in a sling, his lids squeezed over chocolate-colored eyes. Whimpers escaped his lips softly, and Jim's heart sank in sympathy, knowing full well what it was like to be in pain, and alone.

With much difficulty, Jim swung his legs over the edge of his own bed, taking great care to avoid moving his burned hand and neck. Unbeknownst to the Ensign, he strode across the room and sat on the only other occupied bed. "What's your name?" he questioned lightly, gripping the boy's uninjured shoulder.

The Ensign jumped, eyes snapping open as the tears halted in their tracks. He was young, most likely Chekov's age or a few years older, but not much. His shoulder tensed under Jim's hand before answering, clouded in fear, for he had never been so close to his captain before.

"Ensign B-Benjamin Zachary A-Alexander, sir," he stuttered nervously, forcing back tears. He was thoroughly terrified that Jim would somehow reprimand him for being so weak and spineless in the face of danger, much like Bones had when he came into sickbay with a shattered forearm after falling down the stairs in the engine room. Instead, much to his relief, the captain smiled slightly, almost reading the boy's mind.

"Well, Ensign Benjamin Zachary Alexander," he said. "You have nothing to fear, nothing to shed tears over, no pain that will conquer you. Your willpower is stronger than any fear that plagues you, understand?" His tone was not orderly, but kind, and when Alexander nodded, he continued.

"No matter what happens," Jim murmured, "you're gonna have to stay strong, you hear? Someone once told me that the purpose is to experience fear, and that's partially true. But when you overcome that fear, you're able to endure more. It's always gonna be worth the fight. And there will _always_ be a reason to keep on."

The Ensign looked at him, dark eyes widened, breath hitched in his throat. The meaning behind Jim's words could be applied not only to the current situation, but everything he'd ever thought of, and he strangely felt freer, more alive. He'd forgotten about the pain in his healing arm, and it was beginning to subside the longer he looked at Jim, those metallic blue eyes speaking a message that Alexander was utterly grateful for.

Jim squeezed the boy's shoulder, his fingers accidentally brushing the skin under Alexander's ripped uniform from when it tore upon his landing. "You get some sleep now," he ordered, but in a gentle manner. Alexander nodded, sniffling once and settling back into bed as Jim heaved himself off of the sickbed and back to his own. He felt strangely accomplished as he lay down once more, the boy's gentle snores indicating that he was already asleep. A sigh escaped his lips as he attempted to clear his mind and escape into darkness, but his efforts were futile.

Before Jim drifted off into a fitful slumber, he understood with a pounding heart that the words he had spoken had most likely been more for himself than for the Ensign.

* * *

"You look troubled."

"I'm fine, would ya just drop it?"

"Your well-being is of my concern."

"Since _when_?"

Bickering voices awoke Jim from his medically induced sleep. The captain did not open his eyes but could hear voices from across the room, both of which sounded familiar, but he was so mentally exhausted that he couldn't quite distinguish them. There was a mild pain in his body, but he forced himself to ignore it and focus on what was happening.

"I have always held an…interest…in your emotional state." This voice was calm and soft, almost reassuring.

"That is the biggest fucking lie I've ever heard," the second voice snapped. "It's not in your physiology to feel anything."

There was a slight pause. "That does not mean that I am incapable of it."

Jim was confused from where he lay. He couldn't understand anything in the slightest, knew no context of the situation. And yet, he had a sinking feeling in his stomach, as though he was a part of it somehow.

"I know…" The second voice had gone from frustrated to quiet, almost a whisper. The tone was strained, as though it rarely reached such an octave. "You used to…"

"Yes."

"We had something." The voice sounded on the brink of tears. "We had something at one point, and then you left. You just _left_ me."

"I cannot pretend that I—"

"Stop. Just stop. Please."

Silence.

The first voice spoke again.

"You seem to think of this more than I."

"Of course I do," the second voice retaliated, sounding hurt. "You don't give me _any_ insight anymore. It's like you've…moved on…or something."

"There was nothing to move on from." Cold, harsh words. The sound almost scared Jim from his bed, eyes threatening to open from fright.

"You can't possibly tell me," the second voice responded, as if it was through clenched teeth, "that after that night, you felt _nothing_?"

"I thought so, but I was mistaken."

There was a horrible clanging sound, as though a fist had slammed down upon metal. Jim heard several objects rain down on the floor, each of them crashing deafeningly, but it was nothing compared to the roaring voice that accompanied it.

"Goddammit!" it said. "Nothing? I give you everything I possibly could, all I could offer you, and you tell me that there's nothing." It was as though the person simply could not comprehend much, as if "nothing" was the foundation of their thoughts. It was saddening to Jim, but the phrases that he heard afterwards nearly sent him spiraling off of the bed.

"'Nothing' is an inaccurate term. I do feel, contrary to your belief. However, the things I feel no longer concern you."

"Good. Then get the hell outta here."

It was quiet once more apart from the gentle sliding of doors, footsteps leaving the room. Jim heard a sigh, a few metal-sounding clinks, and more steps that seemed to come in his direction. Holding his breath, he prepared himself for whatever was yet to come his way.

"Goddammit, Jim, wake up, will ya?"

The captain of the _Enterprise_ groaned softly as his eyes opened, taking in his surroundings. Bones was clutching his arm, shaking it as he unhooked Jim from several machines. The Chief Medical Officer had made a last-minute decision to let Jim out early, partly because he knew Jim would sleep better in his own bed, and partly because he was terrified of Jim's questions. "You're all set now."

Jim sat up in the sickbed, noticing almost immediately that Bones' gaze was nowhere near his face. In fact, it almost seemed that the doctor was avoiding him completely. Unsure of how to respond to this, Jim nodded and said, "Um…thanks, Bones," before swinging his legs over the bed. The time on the monitor across the room read that it was close to the end of his shift before he got to relax for the night and sleep, but if anything, he was the last person who would be found sleeping.

There was simply too much to think about.

"Mhmm." The reply came softly from the doctor, who still kept his stare away. What emotion filled his soul, Jim was unsure, though he was smart enough to know when to leave. Once he had thrown on his gold shirt, he shot a single look at Bones before departing, taking note of the CMO's slouched frame, saddened eyes, and lack of words. It killed the captain inside to know that his best friend withheld secrets that could not be discovered at the time, but he would simply have to wait for a better day.

"G'night, Bones," Jim said, with slight pity in his tone.

He didn't wait for a response as he left sickbay, for he knew there would be none. Jim rubbed his eyes and sighed as he wandered through the ship's dimly lit corridors. The day crew was mostly in bed, and the night team was beginning to replace them. The captain yawned, knowing it was far past the time he should be asleep as well, but there was absolutely no chance he would be able to do so. As he reached his quarters, he fumbled with the pass code and entered. To his surprise, the lights were completely off. He mumbled a command to the computer, loud enough that it would detect his voice and bring the room out of the darkness. The moment he had done so, however, he immediately wished he hadn't. His mouth dropped open as he stared around the room.

"Oh my God. What the _fuck _is going on here?" Jim's voice was cold as he spoke, the harsh reality of the surroundings taking a toll on him. Part of his mind wanted to scream out in emotional pain, but the other half could only begin to question the situation.

His quarters looked like a cross between a five-year-old girl's room and a tacky romantic restaurant. The only relevant colors were pink, red, and white, covering nearly every surface in the room. Confetti in the shape of tiny hearts were scattered throughout the room, on top of his bed and tables, nearly obscuring the color of the floor. Small white candles had been lit and placed strategically around the room, giving a calming, iridescent glow. At the moment, however, Jim was anything but calm.

Spock stood up from a corner in which he'd been sitting, curiously closing an Earth novel in his hands. "Fascinating," he said, staring at the cover. "Who would have known that it was Noah all along reading to his Allie?"

Jim let out a groan in immense frustration. "Commander Spock," he said through gritted teeth, "would you like to explain to me why you are sitting here, reading _The Notebook_, and why in God's name my quarters look like this?"

Spock shrugged. "Despite that it has already passed, I merely thought this is what one did during this holiday," he mused, looking his captain square in the eye.

The human, however, had more important matters on his mind. Jim was dumbstruck, staring slightly open-mouthed at the half-Vulcan. He fought to determine whether or not Spock comprehended what he had done—but he _couldn't_ have, due to the blank look upon his face. Of course, Spock's face was almost always blank, but Jim was beginning to catch on to the minute expressions that Spock withheld. The hybrid's left eyebrow was arched slightly in confusion, as though Jim's reaction had not been what he expected. It all made sense in a strange way: the decorations, the books, the preparations. Clearly, Spock had attempted to make Valentine's Day better for Jim, which was quite thoughtful in itself, but he had failed to comprehend the true meaning of the holiday.

"What have you done?" Jim hissed slowly, the words spitting forth like poison. His hands trembled at his side as they curled into fists, blood coursing through his body. The straining heart he kept was throbbing in its cavity, threatening to burst out of frustration and longing.

Spock's brow shot higher. "I do not understand," he replied carefully, placing the book on Jim's confetti-covered desk.

"Of course not." Jim's tone was bitter and icy cold, matching his lifeless eyes. The sarcastic edge to his voice drove a spike through Spock's chest. "You're not very bright for a Vulcan, are you?"

"I simply desired to make you…happy," Spock replied, his voice softer in comparison. "That is what Valentine's Day is about, is it not? Celebrating the bonds of friendship—"

"Friendship?" Jim snorted, interrupting. Completely taken aback, he glared at the hybrid, suddenly inferring that Spock had actually thrown the party not because he was _sentimental_ towards Jim, but because he felt _pity_ for him. The captain's vocal chords strained, forcing the tears that sprang behind his eyes. The words he spoke could no longer be associated with his personality, but were rather fueled by the flame he had hidden for so long.

"Valentine's Day isn't about _friendship_, Spock!" he cried. "It's about _love_, for Christ's sake! It's about showing affection for the person you are attracted to, the person you care the most about, but I suppose you wouldn't know _anything_ about that, would you, you pointy-eared, emotionless bastard!"

Spock was frozen solid where he stood. In all the years that he had been acquainted with Jim, never once had he seen his anger reach this level. True, in the past, the captain had his moments, getting into brawls with his First Officer about decisions and choices, but it was nothing compared to this. As a matter of fact, Spock couldn't even recall a time where he'd seen Jim in the same way he was now, with bloodshot eyes, fists to kill, and a heaving chest that looked ready to collapse. The hybrid sighed, taking a tentative step towards his captain, outstretching an arm. "Jim—"

"Get out." The gold-clad man retaliated quietly, but fiercely. "Get out, Spock."

Stunned at the very idea of leaving Jim when he needed it most, Spock stayed rooted to the spot. He utterly refused to leave his captain's presence; comforting Jim and asking for forgiveness was, whether believable or not, the path he would rather take. However, the longer he stood there, breathing becoming ragged, the more it seemed to infuriate Jim. The First Officer made one final attempt to break through to his friend, but it was futile. "Jim, please—"

"GET _OUT_!" Shattered to pieces, Jim was screaming now, his face pallid. "Get the fuck out of here, Spock, and don't ever let me see you in my quarters again!"

No choice remained for the hybrid. Hurt and aching, he slowly strode past Jim, halting before he reached the door. Something pulled him back, however, and he turned around a final time before leaving. "If you would just let me—"

Spock ducked just in time as an object whizzed over his head, smashing upon the door in front of him. He noticed bits of glass and metal as the remains of a picture frame rained down onto the floor, the sharp corners of it stained red from where Jim had clutched it before hurtling it across the room. Spock's head turned over his shoulder to glance at his captain with sorrowful eyes. Jim's glare was so strong, so fiery that it nearly caused a similar reaction from Spock, but he forced himself to stay composed. He could do nothing anymore but turn his back and walk out on the only person he'd ever consider celebrating Valentine's Day with.

As soon as the Science Officer had left, the captain crumpled onto his bed in a pitiful heap, flutters of tiny paper hearts erupting around him. Their pure white-and-pink innocence was soon tainted by the darkness of Jim's blood as he swept them off his bed to the best of his ability, but it was useless. Spock's presence lingered in every single object that he had placed throughout the room, from the candles, to the small stack of books in the corner, to the single blooming flower that Jim recognized as a plant from the botany room. Each and every one of these objects penetrated Jim's soul with an excruciating, striking vengeance, forcing the half-Vulcan deeper into his mind until he at last succumbed to the pain that consumed him.

The tears slipped from his metallic blue eyes as he drowned in a night of misery.


	6. Chapter 5

**A/N: Guess who's back, and better than ever? ME, that's who! Well...hopefully better, anyways :) I'm not sure how many of you are still following this...but it's here, it's updated, it's chock full of drama and goodness. Forgive me for some of the choppiness; it was written in a half-asleep state, but I was just excited to start it up again. As always, let me know your thoughts, and I'll gladly reply.**

**-C**

**Disclaimer: Star Trek is the property of Gene Roddenberry, and I own nothing except this silly little fanfiction and a calendar on my wall.**

**Paper Hearts**

Chapter Five

From the moment his eyes snapped open to greet the new day, Jim knew something wasn't right.

His head throbbed while he slowly became conscious, as though he'd been stabbed in the temples repeatedly. Along with this, he felt immensely nauseous, more so than any hangover he'd ever experienced. With this combination of symptoms, the captain didn't even make it to the bathroom in time; he sat up within seconds and promptly vomited on the shiny floor. Dizziness struck him like a bolt of lightning, fierce, powerful. It became controlling, and he couldn't do a damn thing to stop it.

The little willpower Jim still held was used to reach the PADD on his beside table. Moaning quietly in pain, he could barely dial the code for sickbay, and he was forced to lie down again as he did so.

"McCoy here…Jim, what the _hell_ happened to you?"

Jim had quite honestly never been as glad to talk to Bones as he was then. The doctor's voice was filled with slight anger and concern as his gaze lingered on the captain's pale face and bloodshot eyes. "'M fine, Bones," the gold-clad man grumbled, an obvious lie to the both of them. "But can you come down here for a minute? Please?"

Bones' eyes flickered to his surroundings before going back to Jim. Despite his ill nature, the captain could see from the doctor's twisted expression that something was wrong. "I can't…" the CMO said, his tone apologetic. He bit his lip slightly before continuing. "We've got a bit of a…situation over here. I'll send Spock up, okay? I gotta go."

"No, please—" Jim's weakened protests were cut off when McCoy's face vanished from the screen. Breathing slowly and faintly, he had nothing to do until Spock arrived, and he had little idea how long that would take. To keep himself conscious and busy, his eyes drifted about the room, attempting to remember what had occurred the previous night.

Reminiscing was an automatic regret. The hues of pink and red and white blended together furiously, hurting Jim's eyes the longer he stared. Spock's novel still rested on the table where he had placed it, the flowers were starting to wilt due to lack of proper care, and…_there_. Something bright and glittering caught the gaze of the captain, and he was able to turn his head ever so slightly to see it.

Of course.

The shards of glass from the picture frame had not been cleaned up, and they were still scattered on the floor like bits of a broken diamond, gleaming innocently in the light. Jim had no clue where the actual picture went, but figured it had flown across the room somewhere. In his mind, he imagined it, remembered it…he could recall the exact moment the camera had flashed, with Spock's firm hand upon his shoulder. Jim treasured his memories with Spock to the point that they almost became painful to remember. They were simply too much to handle anymore. Life with Spock had become an emotional rollercoaster that only went downhill.

And yet, a painful life with Spock was better than no life with him at all.

Jim's heart plummeted to his stomach as an image of his First Officer flashed through his mind before the world went black once more.

* * *

_Spock sat with his head in his hands, trembling, shaking. His back was arched like a cat's, his elbows pressing into his knees. It was nearly pitch-black in his quarters, the darkness reflecting his innermost perception of himself. The Vulcan would never admit it, but he was hurt beyond belief, and it was only due to this emotion that he allowed the reassuring hand on his back to move with the gentlest of rhythms. Spock hardly ever cried, and he refused to do so now, but the human physiology in him was overpowering the Vulcan portion. A soft exhale escaped his lips, resulting in the hand on his back increasing slightly in pressure._

_He was…_feeling_ something, as much as he detested thinking so. He could breathe, think, be sentimental, and even if he had the will to stop it, he wouldn't. _

_A calming accent interrupted his thoughts. "Shh…" it spoke from beside him. "It's all right."_

_The hybrid sat up, though with difficulty, and looked into the gleaming eyes of the Chief Medical Officer. McCoy gazed at him with the most curious of expressions: a mix of understanding, acceptance, and turmoil. Spock stared at him for a moment, eyes unblinking, eyebrows slowly creasing in defeat. The orbs staring back at him were not the icy blue pair he coveted. Their sparkle was not the same; their meaning was entirely different. This wasn't what he wanted._

_But, since Spock was incapable of achieving what he truly yearned for, he'd have to settle for this._

_A hand reached up, slowly, tentatively, caressing Spock's face with hesitation. To the doctor's surprise, the Vulcan succumbed. His own cooler hand pressed against the one upon his cheek. Spock's eyes closed as he did so, taking McCoy's face out of his vision and mentally replacing it with another. The CMO was at a loss for words, knowing little of the hybrid's predicament, but desiring only to ease Spock's suffering to the best of his ability._

"_I'm here for you."_

_So soft, so careful. But the words were like a painful fire down Spock's spine. He kept his eyes closed, but felt the slight shifting next to him, and knew that the two bodies were closer than they had been moments ago. It was over. Spock knew that he needed Bones' emotional support, even if they were on vastly different sentimental levels in the long run. The Vulcan ached for the comfort that the medic offered, though it was not from his desired source. He just couldn't keep running backwards anymore._

"_D-Doctor McCoy…" Spock began to stutter, but was silenced as quickly as he started. McCoy had sealed the gap between them, pressing his lips cautiously to those of the Vulcan. For a moment, he went rigid, body tensing. This _definitely_ wasn't what he wanted._

_But in a way, it was. He'd use his superior mental ability to twist the situation into what he needed, and maybe, just maybe, it could cease the pain for a little while. Maybe…it would all be okay._

_With this thought in mind, Spock let go, and allowed himself to move with the doctor, their connection prolonging into a deep yet feigned passion. Their arms embraced each other, and Spock left McCoy in charge of the progression, from the gentle intensity of their kisses to the slow removal of clothing, one article at a time. The lids were closed over the Vulcan's dark eyes, the vision in his mind more satisfying than the one in front of him. Bones and Spock desired each other for very different reasons, but they both took advantage of the other in order to be convinced that things could work in their favor. _

_Spock didn't dare to look at the person in front of him and just allowed the doctor to take control, gently and softly, temporarily healing their internal aches. The ticking of the clock was slow, ominous, each second passing by slower than the last. He was tired, so very tired, unable to register what exactly was happening to him. _

_However, it wasn't until McCoy spoke again that launched Spock out of his imagination and into reality._

"_I need you."_

_Spock's eyes shot open, and his heart sank when he realized that it was indeed Bones across from him, and not who he desired it to be. The Vulcan sighed, which he hardly ever did, and sat up on the bed. The CMO's face fell as he saw Spock slowly reach for his uniform, slipping the clothes over his body. Spock was ashamed and embarrassed for allowing himself to go this far. Surely he could have found another alternative to rid himself of his emotions, but now that it was over, his sentiments had done anything but disappeared. In fact, as he laced up his boots and headed for the door, McCoy had helped him to realize that no matter how Vulcan he tried to be, he could never rid himself of what he felt._

"_I am sorry," the First Officer had said as he left the room, unable to turn around and look at the doctor. As the doors shut behind him, McCoy let out a long breath and put his head in his hands, knowing that he'd never be able to fill the massive hole in his chest._

* * *

The memory with McCoy filled Spock's mind as he raced down the corridors of the _Enterprise_ in pursuit of Jim's quarters. Chaos was erupting in sickbay, and even though he wouldn't admit it, Spock was concerned. One by one, the crewmembers were becoming emotionally unstable at the confusion and worry, and it wouldn't be long before they would be incapable of performing their duties. Spock refused to become one of them, but he honestly couldn't judge how long it would take for him to snap.

His fingers shook as he punched in the override code to Jim's room, hesitating slightly at the doorway. The figure on the bed was nothing like the captain he'd always known. Jim was completely unconscious, half his limbs hanging over the edge of the bed, and the smell of vomit was so pungent that Spock thought he might also be sick. However, this wasn't about himself anymore. It was about Jim. It had always been about Jim.

Spock carefully lifted his captain in his arms, cradling him as if he were a child. His Vulcan strength allowed him to easily carry Jim out of the room and down the corridor as quickly as his feet would carry him. Trying his best not to jostle the captain, Spock kept his eyes straight ahead for two reasons: one, because he needed to know where he was going, and two, because the sight of Jim being ill nearly broke his heart. He received a few stares and widened eyes from some of the crewmembers as he passed by them on the way to medical bay, but he paid no attention to them. At this moment, nothing else mattered.

The sight that met Spock's eyes was not at all what he expected. At least half a dozen doctors were running around nervously, shouting to one another, typing in PADDs and wielding strange medical supplies. The beeping monitors seemed ten times louder than normal, infiltrating Spock's mind and almost making him dizzy. Along with that, the smell of peroxide reached his sensitive nose, increasing the pounding in his temples. Nevertheless, Spock didn't feel completely nauseous until he saw a gurney in the back corner, a white sheet over a still figure. Dead.

"Spock!" McCoy breathed, spotting the two figures and rushing over to them. His face was panic-stricken, beads of sweat appearing on his forehead. The CMO had changed out of his blue shirt and pants and had donned a one-piece uniform that looked a lot like what the first spacemen dressed in, according to Spock's textbooks. It was thick and bulgy, but Spock assumed it was entirely for protection. Dark circles were prominent under Bones' eyes, and he looked as though he had not slept in over a day. "Let me see him."

The hybrid regrettably shifted Jim's body from his own arms into the ones of the doctor's, but he knew that the captain would be in good hands. Bones gently placed Jim onto a second gurney and immediately started hooking up a vast array of tubes and drips to his unconscious form. Spock felt completely and utterly helpless, unable to do anything but stand and watch the process. His dark eyes became fixated on the still figure on the bed, wishing that he could do something, anything, to fix it.

"Is there anything I can do?" he questioned the doctor, trying not to sound desperate. The back corner caught his gaze again and again.

McCoy sucked in a tentative breath as he thought. "Don't think so," he murmured. "In fact, I think it'll be best if you leave."

Their gaze locked as he said this, and Spock couldn't help but arch his eyebrows in confusion. "For what reason?" he replied, voice trembling ever so slightly.

Bones shook his head back and forth slowly. "Stayin' here is only gonna make you feel worse, Spock. You know it as well as I do. This ship needs you to command in a crisis."

As much as he hated to admit it, the First Officer—now Acting Captain—knew McCoy was right. James Tiberius Kirk was the best captain that the _Enterprise _had ever seen, but if he was unable to do his job, Spock had to step up to the best of his ability. He could not fail.

"May I at least know what is wrong?" Spock asked, but McCoy's expression told it all.

"I honestly don't know," he replied, his face drained. "Wish I could tell you…" His words drifted off as he saw Spock glance over to the covered gurney once more, a tiny hint of fear etched upon his flawless face.

"So then…"

"Yeah." McCoy averted his eyes. "We lost an Ensign yesterday. He was perfectly fine when I gave him some sleeping meds to last the night, but I went in this morning and he wasn't breathing. I…I came too late."

Spock hesitated for a moment, then placed a firm hand on the doctor's shoulder. "Do not blame yourself," he murmured. "It was not your fault."

The CMO nodded. "I know," he said quietly. "But still. I can't…I just can't let anything happen to Jim, y'know?" He looked over his shoulder at the three nurses that were bustling around the captain, attempting to stabilize him and get his vitals under control.

The Vulcan understood completely. "I know."

Bones could see every bit of emotion that Spock was concealing, and he didn't buy his calmness for one moment. His heart ached, but Jim's life was in his hands, and Spock would never be the same if he died under his watch. "Don't worry," the doctor said, knowing that it would be disregarded. "He's tough. He won't give up on you, so you shouldn't either."

"Trust me, Doctor. I will never give up."

* * *

No matter how hard he tried, Spock could not get Jim off his mind. Naturally, sitting in the captain's chair didn't help, but gripping the arms of it was the only thing Spock could do to avoid a breakdown in front of the entire crew. The bridge was oddly quiet; nobody spoke unless absolutely necessary. It was clear that all thoughts were on Jim and the young Ensign to pass during the night. Spock had seen a young redhead outside of medical bay when he'd left earlier, tears streaming down her cheeks. He could only assume she was a close acquaintance of the boy, but it didn't matter so much now. Spock could do little but hope that McCoy would figure it out, and soon.

Around mid-afternoon, Spock had the unfortunate task of hailing Pike on Earth and informing him of the sudden change in captaincy. As the admiral probed him with questions, Spock was forced to reply as stoically as possible in order to keep himself under control. He strongly disliked doing so, for it made him seem uncaring, but he had little choice in the matter. The _Enterprise _and her crew needed him, and he had to remain as logical as possible in the dire situation.

By the time his shift had ended for the day, he was quite drained for a Vulcan, having not slept or eaten much in the last few days. In spite of those needs, he'd give anything to simply play a game of chess with Jim again. While the rest of the day crew headed off to their rooms, exhausted, Spock made an immediate beeline for sickbay, desperate for an update. If he lost Jim…well, he didn't want to think about it. In all honesty, Spock realized, there wouldn't be much more to life, and his body stiffened as he walked, doing his best to avoid thinking about the future. It wasn't set in stone yet, and there was still a chance, however small.

The doors to medical bay were completely shut and locked from the outside, despite the override code Spock punched in. Frustrated, he hammered on the door with his fist. "Doctor McCoy?" he called, though he was unsure if anyone could hear. It took a few more raps on the door for him to hear a series of clicks and beeps on the other side, and the doors opened very slightly to reveal a stressed CMO.

"What is it, Spock?" he sighed in irritation, but not anger. The Vulcan could see that he was still in the protective suit, but looked as though he'd been trying to sleep for a few minutes.

"I was simply wondering about Jim's condition," Spock replied as calmly as he could, ignoring his recklessly beating heart.

The doctor appeared to think for a moment in consideration, but opened the doors just wide enough for Spock to squeeze through. "There's not much to see," he replied. "Just don't touch him. I don't want him getting any worse, or having whatever he's got passed onto you."

Spock entered the room without hesitation, following Bones to a bed on the left. Jim's condition had decreased greatly in the few hours he'd been here, but Spock was extremely grateful to see that he was conscious and breathing, but in a medicated sleep. His skin seemed translucent, even a little green. Spock's fingers twitched by his sides, aching to hold Jim's hand in his own and reassure him. It killed him to do nothing but watch Jim's chest rise and fall slowly, hoping that the drugs would eliminate any and all nightmares that could possibly plague him.

Bones tensed as he watched Spock's reaction to the captain, at last comprehending that this was the correct path. He felt immensely guilty for taking advantage of the Vulcan several months ago and had realized it was a mistake, but at least he'd come to the right conclusion.

He fidgeted with his protective gloves and said, "I still have no idea what's wrong with Jim, but I do know what happened to that Ensign."

Spock arched an eyebrow. "And?"

McCoy took a deep breath before answering. "Jim killed him."

Spock's eyes widened at his words, but before he could say anything, the doctor hurried to finish. "I mean, he didn't do it on _purpose_, but they display the exact same symptoms. I don't get it. I've seen nothin' like it before. But something must've happened between the two, and poor Alexander died because he'd already been exposed to an infection and weakness from that arm. Whatever Jim gave him was the final blow."

_And nobody was there to save him_, the doctor added in his head.

His companion said nothing, allowing the information to process in his head. To avoid becoming emotionally compromised, he changed the subject and said, "You should try and sleep."

McCoy let out a sarcastic chuckle. "Yeah. You and I both know that nobody on this ship has the knowledge I do, and I'm not boastin'. If anybody's going to find out what's ailing him, it's gonna be me. How can I rest when his life is in my hands?" He ran a hand through his hair. "What if he also decides to kick the bucket while I'm asleep? What then?"

"You will not find a solution at this state of exhaustion," Spock replied logically, but he was just as distressed. "You need a few hours of decent sleep."

"I hate it when you're right, Spock," Bones grumbled. "With Jim like this, though…I don't want anyone else suffering the same fate. Look at what happened to the other kid. At the rate this is going, I'm not sure how long it's going to be before…" He trailed off, having no desire to finish the sentence.

Spock, on the other hand, was utterly confused. Having a lesser amount of knowledge in medicine than McCoy, he had a difficult time comprehending what the other was implying. "I am perplexed by this," he said. "What does it mean?"

The doctor let his arms fall from their crossed position and let them hang by his sides, almost as lifeless as his captain's. He turned to face the Vulcan with a worried expression, something Spock had never seen before.

"It means…if we don't find out what's killing Jim, everyone on this ship is as good as dead."


	7. FINAL AUTHOR'S NOTE

Hi, everyone. This author's note is really important, and I know it's going to be tedious to read, but I'd really appreciate it if you did. Thanks.

Okay. So. I started this story back in high school, when I was young and just starting to love Star Trek. To be completely honest, I didn't know that much about it. My knowledge was from the 2009 movie, from YouTube vids, fanfictions, and from whatever my Trekkie uncle had taught me. Being the naïve young writer I was, I wanted to write my own story. It was a pretty bad decision on my part, and I know now that I can never, and will never again, write a fanfic for something that I know very little about. Other fandoms I've written for, like Avatar: The Last Airbender, Glee, and Harry Potter, are far better, because I _know_ the fandom, and I've delved into every part of it. But this story? It was a figment of my imagination, a hopeful chance at becoming a better writer, and it quickly flubbed. Before it was too late, I'd sunk into it and realized that I didn't know enough to push me forward, and so I'd stopped.

Years later, now I'm in college and I still haven't forgotten my love of Star Trek (can you say excitement about the new movie?!) And yet, I feel as though I _still_ don't know enough of it for this story to be good enough. Have I researched more into ST and watched more and gained more information? Of course. But where I left off at the story doesn't leave much room for improvement. Ever since I was a child, I dreamed of being an author, of seeing my book on the big shelf at Barnes and Noble. But I've struggled foryears with the inability to finish things. Why do you think my entire page is full of oneshots? It's because I literally cannot finish a multi-chapter story. I'm always stuck in plot holes and character confusion. With _Paper Hearts, _I was determined. I've pored over this story for months, looking at all my notes and my previous chapters, and I so badly wanted to finish it. But it's about four years later. I can't go back. My writing has matured so much since then, and I realize that this goofy little story didn't really have any true purpose (or a decent ending, for that matter!). But I've come to the point where I realized that sometimes, it's better to give up and move on rather than linger on the past, and that's why _Paper Hearts_ will now and forever remain unfinished.

The only reason I'm leaving it up on FanFiction is because it's a sample of my writing. It's a display of my growth as a writer since my very first Avatar story (goodness gracious, I try not to think about that) up till now. And I'm proud of _Paper Hearts_. Does it suck? Yeah, of course it does. But it proves to me that I had the guts to try something new, and regardless of the piece of poo that this story was, I put effort into it. And to me, that's what counts. Maybe I'll write more Trek in the future. Maybe not. I'm writing every single day this summer, something I haven't done in a very long time, and I'm stepping out of my comfort zone in more ways than one. So, we will see where this goes. If you have any feedback, support, or suggestions for me, I'd love to hear it. All I ask is that you be respectful. I can tolerate constructive criticism, but I absolutely do NOT tolerate cruelty or meanness.

For those of you who have stuck with me to the very end, I can't thank you enough. I love you to the end of the world and back.

Thanks again,

ForeverMartyr


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